Because it also Begins with a B
by Prodigy99
Summary: Nothing about her was dainty or delicately beautiful. She was all hard edges and rough encounters, but in the most beautiful ways. So I could definitely see where the bitterness was coming from; she was, by far, NOT a 'buttercup'. Buttercups don't scream. Buttercups don't hurt. And buttercups most certainly don't scheme with the bad guys. *Rated M for course language*


**Disclaimer: I do not own any content form the Powerpuff Girls.** Original characters, however, are mine and I recommend not using them against my permission. All rights to Craig McCracken and whoever he wants to credit specifically.

**Author's Note:** This story is now a work in progress, but will not updated at a pace beyond my control. I am a college student who tends to procrastinate her work until the last possible moment. However, I am deeply invested in this fiction and I plan to start on the next chapter once I receive enough incentive to do so via feedback.

Another note is that this story is rated M because of the course language that I am pretty sure the main muse of the story, Buttercup, would use once given the freedom to. However, later on it may be rated M for other various reason. I'm still working through that so don't get your hopes up or down.

Lastly, enjoy your read.

* * *

I was never good enough, was I? I mean, compared to my sisters, sure I always had the fighting advantage – I was faster, stronger, more determined – but that still wasn't enough. It was always enough to save the day, don't get me wrong. But it was never enough because I didn't kill them with kindness, right? Fuck that. Fuck kindness. I was never 'the sweet one' or 'the smart one' so kindness didn't matter to me.

It mattered to them, though, and that's where the issue lies. You see, I would play a big role in capturing the crook or beating the shit out of a monster, but at the end of the day, I didn't smile in the face of every citizen and I didn't speak intelligently or sweetly. I always got straight to the point and that's what they disliked; straightforwardness. But of course we all knew that. These were the same townspeople that continued to live in a city where monsters attacked them daily; but I guess they figured that if they kept shoving smiles and kindness up each other's asses, the problem would go away. But sometimes, I actually think the reason I'm like this – the reason everyone expects more out of me than what I'm capable of – wasn't the townspeople's fault and it wasn't even my sisters' fault. It was his fault. And because of my realization of that and the resulting confrontation, I haven't spoken to him in exactly 3 years on this day.

Why was it his fault? Because I was always the last daughter on his mind, the problem child, the inconsistency, the inconvenience, the last one to be named. Hell, he couldn't even name me properly.

What the fuck about me relates to a fucking buttercup? Nothing. Blossom was always _blossoming_ with ideas and 'new found growth'; her name suits her well. Bubbles was the _bubbly_ one that could cheer the entire city up with her laughter; what a perfect name for her. Me, Buttercup? Well the only reason I'm Buttercup is because it also begins with a 'B'. You can't tell me that isn't bullshit; we all know it is.

I don't hate the man, I just think he's a favoring, unthoughtful bastard. He did his best to raise me and sisters and I'm grateful and all, but until he can admit his mistake, I don't want to be around him. I still love him – he was… is… my father, my professor.

But that doesn't change the fact that he fucked up from the beginning.

I swung my fist once more, the anger inside me adding the extra push I needed to punch a hole, triple the size of my fist, through the punching bag in front of me, spilling sand all over the gym's floor. It was the fifth one I ruined in the last hour I'd been at it. The gym owners and I had a deal; I supply my own punching bags and clean up my mess, I could work out my anger for as long as I wanted. However, considering the fact that I wasn't in the mood to be cleaning up literal tons of sand today, I think five was my maximum right now.

Each time I'd do this, the men around the gym stared in either awe or envy, but today just like any other day, I still paid them no mind. I even shot a middle finger to some of them, at which they shrunk away and continued what they were doing. I cleared away the sand from the last bag in a few seconds, grabbed the punching bag's carcass, and proceeded walk to the women's locker room. I was feeling generous after that workout so I even elected to ignore the burning gaze on my back most likely coming from some new guy in the gym. I didn't even spare him a glance.

If he didn't learn from the others by the next time, _then_ I would proceed to knock his eyes into the back of his skull. 

* * *

I usually shower at home when I'm done in the gym (because who wants to wash off their sweat with other strangers and their sweat?) but today I had a date so I took the risk of doing a quick wash up here. And no, this date wasn't a romantic type date, but a lunch date with Bubbles. Since I left the Professor's house, I keep mostly in touch with my bubbly sister because, well like I said earlier, even when I'm determined to stay in a foul mood, Bubbles can still get a grin out of me. Blossom's too stiff; she and I don't see eye to eye most of the time so we don't really communicate that often. Fine with me. Sometimes, though, she comes along with Bubbles but it's always stuffy when she's there. I tolerate it for the sake of family ties and all that but really, I just want to sit, eat, and chat and _not_ have to worry about my table manners.

I finished my shower in record time and dressed in a fresh pair of clothes; a black tee, leather jacket, and jeans was fine to me for a simple meet up at a diner. Bubbles the fashionista wouldn't think so, but I live my own life now. Just as I was pulling on my jacket, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket immediately followed by the blaring of Trapt's Headstrong. It was Bubbles.

"Hey Bubs, yeah I'm on my way now… yeah I just got done at the gym… okay, awesome, see you in five." She had arrived at the diner already and ordered us both a couple of short stacks. Great, because I worked up one hell of an appetite.

I was about to exit the locker room when my super hearing picked up on a conversation happening right outside the door.

"Sir that is the women's locker room. I'm going to have to ask you to step away, please," I could tell from the voice that it was the desk guy, Devon, who was speaking. Considering the amount of time I spent here, he and I could consider each other close friends – you know, if you call spotting me and calling each other names being close friends. It worked for us, though.

"Calm your shit, man. I thought I saw someone I know go in there, that's all," the other voice responded. A deep, rough voice. I knew almost everyone that frequented this place so this guy was either a newcomer, or one of those guys that worked out once a month for sake of scoping out chicks.

"Well you can either wait for her to come out from a distance of fifteen feet or you can get out," Devon said.

"Man, go fuck yourself, it ain't that serious. Go back to your desk and jack off or something," the deep voice said. Now I was pissed. There were few people I actually associated with at this point in my life, Devon being one of them, and I wasn't going to let some new prick get away with saying what he wanted to _my_ friends in _my_ gym.

I rushed through the door, scowl already plastered on my face, but when I looked around all I saw was a flustered and red Devon. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was breathing heavily as if he'd just ran a marathon.

"I heard him, Dev. Where's the little fucker?" I asked, cracking my knuckles.

"Don't worry bout it, Buttercup. Just another asshole who thinks he can muscle his way around here. I'm fine, just pissed."

Hearing that he was okay, I loosened up a bit, my anger subsiding. "Don't be too upset, Dev. Probably just another one of those once-a-month gym pricks looking for a pair of bouncing boobs. Nothing to worry about," I assured him, grinning. "And just in case you were wondering, I would give you a discount if you ever decided to hire me as a bodyguard."

He narrowed his eyes and smiled wryly. "Haha, very funny, BC. I could beat that guy down before you could blink. But, I'm all good now, I swear it. If you were going somewhere you should probably go now before that ass comes back looking for trouble."

"Yeah, I was just on my way to meet my sister. But don't worry about me. Superpowers, remember?" I scoffed and shrugged. "I should see you again sometime this week. Probably not tomorrow though."

"'Kay, see you then. But before you go…" he began, the anger etched in his face slowly being replaced with concern, "Was there… someone else in the locker room with you?"

I tilted my head and shrugged. "No, I don't think so. But I really gotta go now, Dev. I got a short stack waiting for me. See ya."

"Yeah, see ya. Be safe, Buttercup, for real."

"I guess," I snorted. That guy worries way too much for someone who gets into bar fights on a regular basis. I shook my head and chuckled, swinging the gym's door closed behind me as I left. 

* * *

I could smell pancakes doused in syrup and butter the moment I walked through the diner's doors. All I had to do was follow my nose to find Bubbles patiently waiting for me in a booth in the back corner of the diner.

"Hey, Bubbles, sorry for the wait. Minor interference at the gym." I gave her a side hug and slid into the booth seat opposite her. I looked up to grin at her for a second, just to signify that it was nothing to worry about, and then my attention was stolen by the steaming pile of pancakes before me. I loved brunch.

She smiled and nodded towards me. "It's okay, Buttercup. I know you're not the type to be on time anyway. You flew here? What happened to your car?" she giggled and gestured to my windblown hair.

I ran my hand over my hair, trying to finger-brush it back into place." I didn't feel like paying for gas. As much as I love that thing, holy hell is it a gas guzzler," I said, shrugging. "Besides, I wanted to rush here anyway. I hate cold breakfast food."

Her smile faltered when I mentioned not wanting to pay for gas. Bubbles worried about me constantly – whether it was about what I was eating, who I was with, or my source of income. With all the worrying she does, I'd say she was a good match for Devon, but I already know she'd wear him out before he even got to the second date. She easily brought the smile back to her face, so I guess she decided to dismiss it this time. "Good thing the waitress just brought the pancakes to the table a couple of minutes ago. Let's eat!"

She didn't have to tell me twice. Within the first couple of minutes between picking up my fork and now, I had already devoured 1/3 of my stack. Bubbles was more reserved, chewing politely with her mouth closed and a small satisfied smile, sometimes dabbing at maple syrup at the sides of her mouth between bites. Sometimes I wish I could be as dainty and cute as my younger sister, just to know what it was like and see how people would treat me. But it just wasn't built into my nature; it wasn't me. If it was, the name Buttercup would suit me better – I'd be dainty like the stupid little flower I coincidently shared my name with. I sighed and looked up, stuffing another half of pancake into my mouth.

"So what's been going on back at the house? What's going on with you?" I asked, mouth still full of pancake. If she was grossed out by my lack of mannerisms, she didn't show it – that's why I was comfortable around her.

"Not much is going on at the house – the usual I guess. Don't worry, your room is still untouched." She grinned at the last part. Happy she remembered how particular I am with my things, I grinned back. "As for me," she continued, wiping her sticky hands on her napkin. "I'm pretty great, actually. I just found out I got a B average in most of my classes and an A in Portuguese! Of course, that was inevitable what with the whole super language powers and all." She laughed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "But yeah, I love college! It's so different from high school. Oh, Buttercup, if you could see the amount of cute boys there, you would – no you probably wouldn't faint or even care much – but I would… and I do! "

I snorted softly as to not interrupt her flow. When she got into a groove, she could go on for ages. All I had to do was listen. Listen and eat and nod a little; it's a great system for me. I didn't want to talk about me – things get awkward when we talk about me. So when I felt her winding down, I fired out the next question. "How's Blossom doing?"

She paused for a bit then smiled hesitantly, "She's fine. You know her, a workaholic. I hear she's got a perfect G.P.A and she made the Dean's list. She actually wanted to come with me today but she had to study for an exam tomorrow. One day I'm scared that her brain might burst." She forced a small grin and broke eye contact for a bit and I could tell she was hesitant to go on. When she did, she said exactly what I knew she would. "She misses you, Buttercup."

I rolled my eyes and sighed, licking syrup form my fingers. I was almost done with my stack; two pancakes left, to be exact. "No she doesn't. Remember, I was too 'selfish' and 'immature' for her."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't love and miss you," Bubbles retorted. I scoffed. I knew she was right, but we both knew Blossom and I had started growing apart the older we got. She may love and miss me, but that doesn't mean everything is okay between us. She thinks me leaving is completely selfish, illogical, and irrational. But she wouldn't understand my situation because she was always the all-around favorite. She was never the problem child. She never got told, _"Why can't you be more like your sisters,"_ over and over again. Her name defined what she aimed to be. _Of course_ everything I was doing to find myself was _'illogical'_ to her. I grunted at Bubbles and stabbed my two remaining pancakes with my fork. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling very hungry anymore.

"And… dad misses you, too. He wants to see you," she said softly. I looked up at her fiercely. Her smile was completely gone now, replaced by a wistful and miserable look.

"I don't care, Bubbles. I told you until he apologizes and takes back what he said, I don't want to deal with him. Probably not even after that." What he said to me directly. What I overheard him say. Even his sincerest apology wasn't going to be good enough.

"Buttercup, you know he was drunk that night."

"Oh, I guess you don't remember the fact that he said I drove him to drink after he tried to quit, right? Don't you know that because I didn't turn into the dainty little buttercup everyone wanted me to be, I was the reason things usually went wrong? The trouble I got into in high school? The fights? Bubbles you can't sit here and tell me that isn't all true. It was my fucking fault and we all fucking know it, don't we?" My voice was rising. I didn't want to scream at her or make her cry, but the rage just built so easily in me and I couldn't control it.

"He didn't mean it, he even told me that and-," she whimpered, her eyes were growing damper by the second. Behind that though – and I could tell because I knew my sister that well – I knew she was getting nervous. 'Nervous about what,' was the question in my mind.

"Bubbles, what… "

"And I brought him here to tell you himself."

I instantly felt my body tense as she looked past my head to the booth behind us. I sensed movement behind me then felt a hand touch my shoulder. I could feel the eyes of every other patron in the diner burning holes into us.

"Buttercup, please listen. If not to me, then to your sister." His voice was level, not cold. I could hear the sincerity, but I didn't want to. I didn't want to turn and look at him at all, let alone with tears brimming in my eyes, so until my eyes sucked them back up, I didn't. But when I did finally turn around, it hit me full force. I was face to face with my dad that I had refused to see in three years. He had more gray hairs than I remembered – a lot more. He looked like he hadn't shaved since yesterday and even then I could see that the gray had spread to his beard, too. I wanted to vomit all over him. "Buttercup you know I love you and you know I miss you. What I said all those years ago, you have to understand I meant none of it! I feel horrible for even thinking those things. You… your sisters and you are perfect. I was just so-"

"Disappointed in me? In the way I turned out?" I finished for him. I shoved my hands into my pockets so he couldn't see them shaking. This wasn't supposed to be happening right now. I wasn't ready. But I continued nonetheless. "Well I'm sorry I couldn't be more like my sisters. Maybe you used too much fucking spice when you tried to make us 'The Perfect Little Girls' so I don't really think any of this is my fault. You don't know how to handle me, right? You don't know what to do with me because I don't solve my problems with tears or talking like them, right?"

"Buttercup, yes I was confused. I was stressed out. Just give me a moment to explain-" he tried to start. I wasn't having it.

"No! You explained enough three years ago! I never got the chance to tell my side," I snapped back instantly. I was clenching my teeth, trying to desperately swallow the lump in my throat. There was dead silence; not even the usual clattering of utensils against plates you'd hear in a diner. These were some nosy motherfuckers, but I was too caught up in the moment to give a shit about them, so I went on. "It took you 18 years to finally tell me how _wrongly_ I came out. How, even though we were initially all freaks, you could never quite work out the kinks in _me_. And how I never quite fit into your _plan_. Is that all we are? Plans? And I'm just the fucked up prototype or something?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bubbles get up from the table, her expression frantic. She opened and closed her mouth several times before turning to me. "Buttercup, you're looking at this all wrong," she whispered. She reached to put her hand on my shoulder but I evaded it and took a step back from the both of them.

"No, Bubbles, I'm not. And you know what? I'm done being a plan; I'm not going to perform for anyone anymore. I'm done. You… you shouldn't have done this." I glance between them a couple of times before swiftly turning to walk away.

"Buttercup, please wait," the Professor called out, reaching to stop me. I turned on my heels and looked up at him, not allowing him to touch me. Every muscle in my body screamed defiantly. "I just want you to know that I am… very, _very_ sorry for everything I've said and done. Please, if you ever find it in you to forgive me, come back. I promise to make everything better. We _will_ accept you as you are. Just… don't shut me out. Not like this… not forever. I will always consider you my daughter no matter what. I know I was wrong in the past, but please let me fix it. It may not be now, but don't make it another three years. That's all I can say for myself right now."

Everything in my brain told me to just hightail it the hell out of there, but my heart told me to hang on to the thread of hope being dangled in front of me. I was never the type to follow my heart or my brain, but my gut. My gut was telling me to follow my heart for once. That still didn't mean I was going to jump right back into this though.

"Fine. If you wanna start accepting me for who I am, I need you to understand a few things. One, bullshit also begins with a B, so I know it shouldn't be that hard for you to start spewing it. Two, I'm _never_ going to be a _buttercup_," I spat more furiously than I intended. He looked as if his resolve to let me go was faltering, so before he or Bubbles could say anything more, I left. 

* * *

Finally being twenty one had its perks. Really I just liked it because I didn't have to threaten the cashiers and bartenders into giving me my drinks. The less time I spent in the liquor store, the less chance I would be forced to punch a guy's face in for hitting on me.

After leaving the diner, the lump in my throat that wouldn't go away was begging to be drowned and burned by the strongest vodka I could find. Thanks to the Chemical X running through me, it wasn't easy for me to get drunk. One bottle of anything alcoholic was pretty much like a sip of water to me, but it was enough to get anyone else drunk from half a bottle. That was probably the reason why the guys in the liquor store gawked at me when it became clear that these four bottles of Absolut were just for me.

Now that I was safe in the confines of my cramped studio apartment, I popped open one of the bottles and guzzled half of it down. _Did that just happen? Why the hell would Bubbles pull a stunt like that?_ _I never said I was ready for that shit. Damn, Bubbles wants to help so much, sometimes she just makes it that much worse._

I finished the bottle with just a few more swigs.

I was never an alcoholic. Back when I lived with the Professor, I hadn't really been interested and I'm still not… much. Of course, I was just really following rules and probably biting off of Blossom's moral standings; _'alcohol is for the weak minded.'_ It was only when I moved to Citiesville – the home of the delusional runaways – that I really stated experimenting with the drinks. To be honest, it wasn't really anything special. The people I'd acquainted myself with seem to think highly of its healing qualities though, so I usually accompanied them to bars and parties with nothing else to drink but liquor. Now, I just used the bitter drinks to take off some of my edge and forget the last few hours for a while – like now.

I was already finishing off my second bottle when I plopped down on my ratty sofa and turned on my small television. I needed double the distraction. Unfortunately, I didn't have much interest in TV shows these days, so it was hard to find decent channels that were available on my cheap cable plan. There were no sports games on this time of the day, so I had to settle on the news channel again.

"–and Citiesville's crime rates seemed to have doubled in the last month due to numerous unsolved break-ins and robberies. The city, now claiming to be in distress mode, is planning to hire more security guards and police officers to combat the increase in crime. However, the city officials still feel that the budget for the sudden increase in its defense system will still be less damaging to their reserve funds than having to repair the city if a superhero were to be hired to help out with the attempted crime control. In other news –"

I rolled my eyes so hard, I swear they almost got stuck. One of the reasons I decided to move to Citiesville was because they were so adamant about not needing or wanting help from anything that could levitate even an inch off the ground. Living here gave me a chance to be selfish and not give a fuck without consequences. When they made newscasts like this, I made it my job to not give a shit. It's not like they had big ass monsters like Townsville or even super powered criminals. They were just proud that they could arrest a couple of crooks on their own. Good for you, Citiesville, but when your whole system gets screwed over, don't come crying to me.

I actually laughed; I guess the news was more entertaining than I thought. Just as I tipped the last drop from my second vodka bottle into my mouth, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. Pulling it out, I did a silent prayer that it wasn't anyone who I was trying to forget at the moment. My prayers apparently didn't do shit; it was Bubbles. I didn't want to hear from her right now; I felt like she violated my rights. So I tossed my phone on the coffee table beside my sofa, secretly hoping it broke. She could wait on my terms this time.

With that, I opened up my third bottle that I originally planned on saving for another day. Hearing about this rat hole of a city in turmoil didn't bring me enough joy, I guess. I swiped at my eyes, refusing to let a single tear fall from them, and tipped the bottle into my mouth.

_'Buttercups' don't fucking drown their tears in vodka in the afternoon until they're knocked out, do they?_

* * *

I woke up still pissed off, a bit nauseated, and, even though I hate to admit it, feeling kind of guilty. Now that I had let the alcohol run its course, I thought maybe I did overreact towards Bubbles a bit. Resigned, I picked up my cell phone from my coffee table – it wasn't broke, and I'm still not sure if I'm happy or upset about that – and read her text.

_Bubbles: I'm sooo srry BC. I ddnt mean 2 cause such a scene. Give me a call when ur not mad anymore :(_

Great. Now I really feel like shit.' I groaned and wiped the drunken sleep crust from my eyes. I hated apologizing but it was looking like I had no choice this time. I tapped the screen on my phone to open up the rest of my messages. I was only expecting Bubbles' name to pop up, but 3 other messages opened instead.

_Tammi: B wake up call. Don't 4get u have a shift today at 10!_

_Tammi: B plz tell me u r on ur way. Boss is gonna go bat shit cray!_

_Tammi: If ur in trouble somewhere, holy shit I hope ur ok. If not, ur gonna b in some deep shit here…_

FUCK! I completely forgot I had a shift today! I took a daring glance at the time on my phone; it read 11:35am.

Tammi was right; my boss is going to murder me – or he would if he could. I was dressed in 10 seconds flat and out the door. I'm pretty sure I still smelled like alcohol but that wasn't the real issue at hand. I'd rather go to work smelling like an alcoholic than be fired and forced to give up my job to an alcoholic. 

* * *

I worked at small piercing parlor called _Fiercely Pierced_ within flying distance from my apartment. A lot of the time I hated it because mostly my job consisted of waiting for people to pick out which stud they wanted, then waiting for the punk asses to calm down and shut up so I could just get it done. Still, I stayed because the pay was pretty great once I could convince a few customers to buy some of our more expensive diamond studs and claim commission on them. Also, it was the only job I could get, excluding stupid law enforcement, that let me have a gun. That was my favorite part by far.

Luckily, the complex the parlor was in had a back door that led to the parking lot. Bossman only allowed it to be used when opening and closing the store because he didn't want any thieves to catch on to our little bat cave entrance. The door was rusty, so it creaked at even the slightest push, but it was my only way of sneaking in. If I was careful, and Tammi was covering for me like I knew she would be, I could probably convince him that I was there the entire time. I was pretty sly when it suited me.

I opened the rusty door inch by inch, letting the creaking sound resonate and hoping the sound would be thrown to make it seem like it was coming from another part of the complex. Inside, I could the normally soft-spoken Tammi speaking loudly to what was most likely a customer, probably knowing that I was sneaking in and trying to cover the creaking noise of the door. Tammi was one of my favorite people for this reason.

After what felt like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, I opened to door enough to slip through. I didn't bother closing it because the stupid door made even more noise being closed than opened and that would defeat the purpose of sneaking in. '_Play it cool, B,_' I repeated in my head. I tip-toed past Bossman's office that was, thankfully, closed. Boxes of equipment were stacked high above my head, so I used them to stay hidden in the shadows. Peering around the corner from my hiding spot, I could see Tammi, model tall and beautifully brown, at the counter handling a customer, no doubt aware that I was making my grand entrance. She shot a hand behind her back – three fingers up, then pointing left – meaning Bossman had went to the bathroom three minutes ago. Three minutes ago meant I probably had two more before he came back out. Awesome.

Tammi held her hand out, telling me to wait. After saying a couple of words to the customer, I heard the front door open and she waved me forward to the counter.

I sighed heavily, relieved.

"Yo, Tam! I owe you one, big time!" I said beaming at her. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms playfully, obviously suppressing a grin.

"Yeah, yeah. With the amount of times I've had to cover for your ass, I'd say you owe me way more than _one_," she said, raising an eyebrow at me.

"True. But you know I'd do the same for you, and I'm good for it anyways."

"Sure you are," she snorted. She turned to start putting away the merchandise she must have been showing the customer. When I got hired, Tammi had already been working here for about a year, just her and Bossman. I used to always think that she and Bossman were some type of secret lovers until she told me confidentially that she thought he was the scum of the earth. Initially, I thought she was just saying that to cover up her crush on him, but the disdain in her voice and eyes said otherwise. Since I started here, Tam has been like an older sister (even if she's older by only a year) to me. She covers my ass when I come in late, like now, and every now and then we go out clubbing. She's as street and book smart as she is beautiful and I admit that I used to be very jealous of her – I still might be, just a little. Still, she always made me feel like an equal to her since day one... unlike some other older sisters. I trust her and usually tell her everything… except for what happened yesterday. And I didn't plan on telling _anyone_ that until I've coped with it myself.

"So the real question is, B, what the hell happened this morning? Where were you? A fight?" she asked, tapping her fingers on the glass counter. I opened my mouth to tell her that I'd drank myself into a semi-coma yesterday, but I stopped halfway. Being that she knew I wasn't normally an afternoon drinker and I rarely ever drank myself into a stupor, I knew she would ask questions. As I said before, I'm not ready to talk about that. I'm actually here at work because I want to try and forget about it for a little while longer. Before I could come up with a bullshit excuse, however, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Yeah Buttercup. Where, exactly, were you this morning?"

Shit. I turned around to Bossman, looked up, and gave him my best innocent grin which wasn't very good at all. He was 6'5, lanky, had hair that somehow looked pretty okay even though I know he almost never touched it, tatted from his throat down to his ankles, and was as menacing as he was tall – and his real name was Ben. To avoid being inevitably called Big Ben, as it was probably expected, he told his workers to call him Bossman or risk getting fired. Yeah, he was a bit of a hard ass.

"I'm waiting, Buttercup," he droned, raising an eyebrow. I groaned and dropped my arms to my side, knowing I wasn't getting out of an explanation this time.

"Listen, I woke up late because I ran into some trouble yesterday. I'm sorry, and it won't happen again."

"Oh, trouble you say? What was it, a vodka monster? You smell like you just took a shower in liquor, Buttercup, and you expect me to believe that you ran into _trouble_? I night out clubbing doesn't qualify as _trouble_ in my books. C'mon, you gotta do better than that," he said, his voice irritatingly gruff. I fought to suppress a sneer that was desperately trying to force itself onto my face.

"Yes, I admit that I actually was drunk last night. Maybe, after dealing with the shit I deal with, I was trying to drown the pain, Bossman," I replied sarcastically. Sure it may have sounded like sarcasm, but there was a lot of truth to it.

"Listen, I don't care if you had to stop a gorilla from terrorizing the city last night, I expect you to be at work, on time, every morning; honor your commitments. Being a superhero is a part-time job now, this is your full-time. But since you can't seem to get that concept, I'm going to have to lay you off temporarily to make room for a more consistent worker, capiche?"

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped open. 'No no no no no, this can't be happening,' I thought. 'Karma can't be _this_ much of a bitch.' "Y-You're kidding right? I'm the best piercer you've ever had! You said it yourself! You can't just fire me!" I screamed.

"Yeah, Bossman. You've fired 1,000 other people that weren't nearly as good as BC. Give her another chance, man. It's not like we've been getting that many customers anyway," Tammi added. I nodded in her direction, both agreeing with, and thanking her.

Still, Bossman was shaking his head. "First, I never said you were fired, I said I was laying you off until you get your priorities straight. Second, I don't care if you were the best piercer in Kalamazoo; that shit won't matter if you're never here. You know we get a lot of stupid college kids in here around this season. I need two people on the job constantly," he said. I felt my heart sink in my chest. "Call me when you think you got it together. And if you don't think it's fair and you have something else to do, Tamika, you can go, too."

"Y'know what. Fuck you, Bossman. I'm out," I spat. "Tammi, you stay. I don't want you to suffer 'cause of me. I'll stay in touch and I'll find something else. I don't need this shit."

"I'm sorry to see you go, B. We'll catch up later?" Tammi asked. I could hear a slight waver in her voice that told me she sincerely did not want me to leave and she enjoyed my company. I sighed, gave her a quick hug, and walked to the back door, shooting one last nasty sneer at Bossman before slamming the creaking door shut behind me.

Jobless, family-less, troublemaker, super hero who doesn't care to save people in danger anymore. A selfish girl. That was who I grew up to be.

Once again, I did not possess one damn quality of a buttercup. 

* * *

I wasn't one to wallow in self-pity for long. So, whatever I was feeling when I walked out of the piercing parlor earlier, quickly escalated into rage. How dare that piece of shit fire _me_? A fucking super hero! Combining this new rage with the unsettled business I had with my father that was still whirring in the back of my mind and it easily explained all of the broken furniture in my apartment at the moment. I'd have to dip into my savings to replace them, which I really didn't want to do. Considering I was jobless now, however, I had no choice.

The money in my savings account was from the monthly stipend Townsville started providing my sisters and me with for saving the city once we turned ten. My sisters rejected it initially – "No, we can't take your money! This is our rightful duty!" blah blah blah. But I didn't hesitate to snatch that check. Years of saving (and the occasional spending) is why my bank account now presented me with a beautiful 10k, sitting and waiting for me to decide what I wanted to do with it. A lot of people may wonder why I don't just take the money and get a new apartment and start 'living the good life,' and I tell them it's because I don't know what I want to do yet. And it's true. I don't want to spend every dime now on a nice apartment and furniture, just to realize I want to use it for something more important like creating a secret identity or skipping the country to commit some high profile crime. I scoffed. 'Like that would ever happen.' So until I figured out my life and why the shitty things always happened to me, I only dipped into my fund occasionally for things like replacing furniture, or buying more punching bags to obliterate; I'd be doing both today.

I kicked the door to the gym opened, three 200 pound sand-filled punching bags in each hand. As usual, I ignored the gawking and set up the first of the bags on the hooks with ease. I placed the other five on the ground next to it, knowing that I'd be burning a hole in each one today just to begin the process of calming down. I was furious and punching a few bags wouldn't be able to completely settle me.

Just as I was about to take my bag with my gym clothes in it to the locker room with me, I turned around and was face-to-face with a weary-eyed Devon. "I thought you said I wouldn't be seeing you today. What gives?" he asked. To others it would sound like he was trying to get rid of me, but I could detect his tone of 'concern' from mile away, literally.

"Some shit came up. I got fired. I'm pissed off, and I need to punch a couple of things. That's all," I replied. His jaw, originally tensed with worry, went slightly slack.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Bossman fired you of all people?!" Devon started rubbing the stubble on his unshaven face in contemplation. "Care to tell me why he fired you exactly? You know, my uncle's a lawyer – a pretty sleazy one – but I can probably get him to-"

I sighed. "No need, Dev. It was my fault. I was damn near 2 hours late this morning. Thanks anyway. Now, if you don't mind, dude, I kinda need to get to punching and I don't wanna accidently start with you on account of you holding me up." I forced a weak grin on my face, but I couldn't seem to unfurrow my eyebrows. Devon held up his hands and backed away, knowing when to stop pestering and let me answer on my own time. I nodded in his direction.

I changed as quickly as I could in the changing room and came out clad in sweatpants and a poison green sports tank top. I could feel my heart speeding up already in anticipation, I just knew this would be a good session. Something was off, though. When I walked in the dressing room, I could still hear the usual noise of clanging equipment and invigorating yet stupid workout music. Now, I could only hear the music, and even that was starting to fade. It was like everyone was holding their breaths, waiting for me. 'But why,' I wondered. 'I punch these bags out regularly, what's the-'

Then I knew.

Where my newly purchase punching bags once laid, was a huge mound of sand surrounded by the bags' skins. I sucked in air. Whoever the hell was playing this joke would probably want to skip the country for the next few days because when I found out who did it, they would pay – in every sense of the word.

I glanced around the gym; faces were pale and even the people who hadn't worked out enough to start sweating were sweating.

"Who. Did. It?" I asked. There was silence. I skimmed the gym again, this time with my x-ray vision, hoping to find the motherfucker with the pocket knife that sliced open my bags. My scan came up empty, but I was still murderous.

"I'm going to ask one more fucking time. WHO-"

"It was me," said a deep and rough but casual voice behind me. I whirled, fist ready to knock the guy into a coma. I stopped short, however, when recognized exactly who spoke.

"Wassup, Buttercup?" Butch said. Yes, you heard me right. Motherfucking Butch of the motherfucking Rowdyruff boys.

Did I mention how much of a _bitch_ karma could be?

* * *

_**Spare thoughts, opinions, and/or ratings?**_


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